


HEART TO HEART AND EYES TO EYES

by AgnesClementine



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: And angsty, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, diego is soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-06-29 17:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Diego doesn’t know how he ended up here. Or so he claims, for the sake of his sanity, fooling himself. He thinks, hesitantly, that saying he’s not in control makes it better.***********************************************I've been told that this story is cute, a bit sexy with a sprinkle of angst, so, yeah. Had to include that here.(Now as a multichapter fic ;))





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wonderful GlassAlice was my beta for this thingy <3 <3
> 
> This has decidedly less *action* than the last one, but, oh, well.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Diego doesn’t know how he ended up here. Or so he claims, for the sake of his sanity, fooling himself. He thinks, hesitantly, that saying he’s not in control makes it better.

Diego doesn’t know how he ended up here. A lie. Up the stairs to the attic, past the door, and into a room storing an array of old, useless things.

Diego doesn’t know how he ended up here. He does. _He does_ , he thinks; images and memories of sparring sessions in the back of his mind, face shoved into the mat, heartbeat picking up in speed all the way to the bathroom where he jerks off under a spray of hot water, a fist crammed against his mouth to stifle the noises. _God, if someone heard him_.

So, okay. Maybe he knows how he ended up here. Doesn’t mean he understands it. Doesn’t mean he had a choice ( _or did he?_ ). Means he’s selfish. _If he’s being nice to himself_.

He picks at the peeling paint on the remaining armrest of the sofa pushed into the corner of the room, thinks about blue eyes and blond hair. Thinks how epically screwed he is. Wonders if he subconsciously hates himself so much he intentionally got his own _stupid_ self in this mess.

He wants Luther. And Luther wants him. But he wants Allison more. Or, maybe, not more. Maybe just different. Maybe softer.

Maybe he’s just talking bullshit right now. Diego’s not going to pretend to know anything. A sigh travels through the room, faded wallpaper and dust swallowing its desperation- _sadness, resignation, longing? He doesn’t know_.

Thumb presses into a bruise on his forearm, chest catching fire and eyes watering.

He is-- he doesn’t know what he is.

One minute more and Luther will be officially late. He knows that.

He counts down the seconds of the time they have. He can make sure they’re not gone for too long. He can make sure nobody starts suspecting anything.

Diego curls his bare feet against the hardwood floor, watches the legs of his sweatpants shifting with the movement.

He’s not scared. _The first time?_ _Terrified_. Not anymore; there’s not much space for fear and nervousness when he gets so overwhelmed with--

The door creaks open a silver, just enough that Luther can slip in and close it behind him again. He looks at Diego briefly before approaching, long legs eating up the distance between them until Diego can feel the heat radiating from him.

“Hi,” he says quietly, like saying it louder will burst this small bubble they’ve created for themselves here, in this room of broken things.

Diego doesn’t speak, shuffles half a step forward. From here, he has to crane his neck up to be able to see Luther’s face. He doesn’t. Instead, Luther ducks his head down, fingers caressing Diego’s cheek so lightly he almost forgot that they could crush a brick like it’s made of sand.

It’s a familiar dance already, so Diego waits.

Half a step forward- now, on Luther’s part- and they’re chest to chest (or almost, Diego hasn’t caught up with Luther in his growth spurt yet, and he doubts he ever will. He’s always second in everything, it’s not even surprising anymore, but it still stings).

In the back of his head, a tiny voice wonders if Allison has this. If she and Luther ever do things like this when they go up to the attic. If they get their hands down each other’s pants and breathe each other’s air. On occasions when he wants to torture himself, he responds with _yes, they do._

_He’s not special when it comes to this._

Today, he wants to pretend that when Luther angles his face up to kiss him, lips on lips, plain and simple, it’s just for him. He wants to pretend that Luther only wants to do this with him. That he doesn’t notice how Luther sometimes watches the lines of Allison’s body the same way he looks at Diego's hips when they’re curled around each other on that one-armed sofa in the corner.

He allows his arms to move, to reach out and clutch at the fabric of Luther’s shirt with slack grip. He doesn't waste energy now, not when he'll need to hang on to every thread of self-control once they move. Things always start slow with them but then turn into a hasty haze of sloppy teenager kisses and clumsy limbs that are a mockery to the years of training and sparring. Like a small snowball that with a simple push down the hill turns into an avalanche.

He doesn’t know what comparing them to a natural disaster means, but he doesn’t dwell on it as Luther leads them to the sofa and tugs him into his lap. He folds effortlessly, straddling him and knowing there will be an arm wrapped around his middle and a hand cradling the back of his head- _like he’s something fucking fragile_ \- before it even happens. Like he said, it’s a familiar dance.

Luther kisses him again, harder, fuller. They don’t have much time, and they already waste enough at the start as it is, so this thing between them never lasts as long as Diego would, _so, so selfishly_ , want it to.

“Hi,” he finally whispers against Luther’s mouth and leans in for another kiss.


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, yep, this pairing definitely took a hold of me.  
> Second of all, I don't know if I can write smut or anything like that, so, uh, sorry if this ends being total garbage.
> 
> Hopefully enjoy? XD And let me know what you think! :)

They sneak back into the hallway slowly, separately, and without a word to each other, even though Diego can still feel a ghost of Luther’s touch on his skin.

Once safely in his room, he snatches the tissues from his drawer and cleans himself up, thinks how they should get a box in the storage room because walking around with drying come in your underwear is not pleasant.

Then he thinks how horrifying that seems. As if they need to plan for their ‘ _meetings_ ’ (they do, but it’s different). As if it’s going to be a permanent fixture in their lives from now on. He realizes he could live with that.

With that, he throws himself on his bed, face first, and welcomes the blankness the sleep brings. This is not something he wants to think about. Not right now.

  * ●●●●



Diego stares at feathers tucked into the ceiling light in Allison’s room, ‘Girls just wanna have fun’ droning on quietly in the background from a small radio he doesn’t actually know how she acquired.

“-whatever, Klaus. I think he’d be a great kisser,” Allison says self-assuredly, flicking a page of a magazine in her hands.

“Puh-lease!” Klaus disagrees, lying on her bed on his back, his head hanging off the edge. “Look at him, he’s got no lips!”

Diego snorts, closing his eyes.

Allison huffs, “He’s good looking. And what do you know about kissing?”

“Um, a lot? You’re looking at the master of all things sex-related, I’ll have you know,” Klaus responds so seriously that Diego _just cannot_ take him seriously.

He snorts again, muttering, “Gross,” because that just sounds weird when said like that.

“Oh, really?” Allison counters. He imagines her arching her eyebrows at Klaus, looking doubtful.

It’s a frequent occurrence when they’re having… whatever this is. They have the afternoon free and Diego might or might not be hiding here. Not that it’s going to be successful hiding; Luther always makes his way to Allison’s room. Sooner or later.

He hasn’t- they haven’t really spoken about their… _thing_. Or about anything, in fact. It’s Diego’s paranoid brain, convincing him Luther will want to talk about it if he gets a chance and he just doesn’t know what to say. His own head is a jumbled mess, all scattered like someone gave him a good shake and everything resembling common sense fell out.

So, yeah. Diego is hiding.

“-feels good. Didn’t you ever try it?”

“Considering I don’t have a coochie, no, I haven’t tried fingering myself like that.”

Diego chokes, wondering at which point during his inner musings have they switched to this topic. He lifts his head to look at them and asks, “Why are we talking about fingering?”

Two sets of eyes blink at him.

“I thought you fell asleep,” Allison tells him, then adds, “And why wouldn’t we?”

Diego has spent a fair bit of time kissing Luther, so he doesn’t respond, letting his head fall back to the fluffy, white carpet underneath him. (A part of him wonders if she tried it with Luther, frowning slightly at himself at the uncomfortable, twisty feeling the thought gives him.)

“Anyway,” Allison continues, aimed at Klaus, “you know what I meant. Anal fingering, _oh great master of all things sex-related?_ ”

“Well, duh.”

Diego wonders if they always talk about stuff like this when he falls asleep here.

“What about you, Diego?”

Allison’s question catches him off guard and he lets out, “Hm?” just as Klaus says, “Of course he didn’t try it.”

He looks at Diego, shaking his head as if he’s disappointed, “For someone with such affinity for leather and knives, you’re tragically vanilla.”

He feels hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest, mind going back to two days ago and how he sat in Luther’s lap, hands around each other’s dicks. And how hard he came when Luther easily pulled him into a more comfortable position (he might have a manhandling kink, but that’s a freak-out for another time).

Instead of appearing completely unhinged by having a hysterical breakdown, he scoffs, flipping his brother off with, “Fuck you, Klaus.”

“That’s kinky. I might have been wrong about you,” Klaus deadpans jokingly, adding, “Should try the fingering, though, feels nice and tingly.”

Diego closes his eyes and hopes the darkness behind his eyelids swallows him whole.

  * ●●●●



It’s after midnight and he can’t sleep. And Klaus’ words come to him, ruffling his curious feathers (and possibly slightly horny ones, but he’s a teenager so that’s given).

He rolls over onto his stomach, burying his head into his pillow to sigh deeply. This is-

He feels so off-balance. Luther came in and shoved him off of his axis and now he’s just spinning around mindlessly and getting dizzy. It’s frustrating.

The wind howls outside, mocking him, and he gets up. He snatches a towel from his closet and ventures outside his bedroom, sneaking up the stairs to another floor on soundless feet.

They don’t really use this one, all bedrooms and bathrooms unoccupied, but Mom still cleans the whole mansion, from top to bottom, so there’s not a grain of dust in sight. He paddles to one of the bathrooms, closing and locking the door behind himself (always so damn paranoid) before flipping on the switch. He uses this one from time to time when the ones downstairs are all taken and he doesn’t feel like waiting for his turn. It’s perfect, as not a sound from here can reach anyone who might be awake right now (read again: paranoid).

He opens the faucet, letting hot water to warm up the air, and shucks his clothes off. He steps under the spray, water beating over his shoulders and loosening up tense muscles. It’s not cold in the mansion, thermostat always set to the optimal temperature, but Diego still runs his hands over his upper arms and his sides, almost hugging himself; more to relax than to warm up. He reaches for shampoo on a reflex, rubbing it over his skin.

He takes himself in his hand, stroking to hardness, and focuses on the feeling; subtle waves of warmth going through him as his hand moves. He licks his lips, imagines it’s Luther’s hand, and reaches down with his other, cupping his balls. But he’s still too curious and soon moves it down even more, reaching between his legs.

It’s an awkward angle, standing up, and the intrusion feels uncomfortable, at first. He thinks he could like it, once the initial feeling goes away- or if he could find a decent angle.

He tries again, reaching behind himself this time, feeling his face heat up because he feels so silly right now.

The feeling is the same at first, but he tries to be patient, Luther’s hands coming to him uninvited. He can imagine him right there with him, jerking him off and, well, doing this too. He feels himself flush at the thought (God, he really is vanilla, that’s ridiculous).

But then his digit brushes over that famous sweet spot and he jerks, surprised because, okay, yeah, that is tingly.

He moves his finger again, letting out a hitched breath, then again, gasping when he presses it in. He shuts his eyes, trying to create some sort of rhythm, fucking into his fist and simultaneously back onto his finger. He feels hot all over, lightheaded. It feels good and he wonders what it would feel like if Luther was doing it instead. Imagines Luther’s hand stroking him, steady and firm, muttering nonsense at him while fucking into him with his other hand.

When he comes, he’s not sure how long he’s been at it, toes curling, vision blurry and spotty, and swearing because it sure as hell feels like a lot more than just tingly.


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diego continues being a paranoid, pinning idiot.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Breakfast is awkward. Today even more so because Diego feels as if everyone’s staring at him; despite the fact he can _see_ they’re all preoccupied with Mom’s blueberry pancakes. It’s not as quiet as during lunch and dinner when Dad’s with them and they’re not allowed to talk, but there’s a certain pull sleep still has over all of them. Honestly, their minds are probably still in their beds and Diego is just being paranoid as usual.

He drags a piece of fluffy deliciousness on his plate through a puddle of maple syrup, eyes traitorously glancing at Luther every once in a while. He is just using honey instead of maple syrup, like a weirdo he is. Something about it being healthier or whatever.

Diego tried it once when he was alone in the kitchen, and he honestly doesn’t really see the difference. But he can’t say anything without giving himself away.

There is this strange feeling in his chest too, but he doesn’t know how to address it. Like he’s been running at a steady pace for a while but now there’s a hill he has to get on top of and he just…can’t. He feels stuck.

As it is, he eats his breakfast in silence, his eyes still sneaking glances of Luther.

  * ●●●●



Diego is flying. He’s soaring through the sky, the sun warming his skin, breeze sweeping through his hair. He is- he not moving.

Because Luther stopped moving.

“What?” He asks, blinking himself back to reality, Luther’s hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

Luther’s eyebrows scrunch up. “Are you okay?” He repeats, then adds, “You were kinda weird today.”

“Weird?” Diego parrots.

If anything, Luther’s face pinches in worry even more. Ever the responsible, dutiful Number One.

“Yeah, you had that look on your face,” he says.

Diego frowns, aware of how flushed he is, face probably colored red. _Look on his face? What look? Oh God, is he really that transparent? Can everyone tell that he’s-_ well, he doesn’t actually know what he is. But he knows he doesn’t want anyone else ‘not knowing’ as well.

“Yep. That is- that’s the look,” Luther says.

“It’s nothing, forget about it,” Diego responds, shaking his head.

It seems like Luther will persist, so Diego squeezes his fist, still curled around Luther’s dick, and says, “I’m serious. Now, get your hand in my pants again, the time is running.”

  * ●●●●



They have a system. That’s how their thing works. Diego remembers the argument, the ‘shut up’ kiss that got them where they are right now. He remembers that the only time they’ve verbally acknowledged what they do, what they plan on doing, was after that kiss. Ironically, he can’t remember what they were fighting about (most times he can’t, and sometimes he wonders if he’s picking those fights just for the sake of fighting) but he remembers Luther’s, and probably his own, ‘deer in the headlights’ expression. How it felt like the world has shattered before Luther kissed him again. Right there in the middle of the fucking lobby.

Thinking back on it, it’s a miracle nobody has walked in on them. Funny, he would have a better excuse if he was caught trying to murder him, then if they were caught kissing.

But the point stands. The system. The storage room. The time.

Not this.

His hand twitches around the doorknob, not quite believing Luther is standing in front of his room at this hour and at the same time wanting to slam the door in his face because _what does Luther think he’s doing?_

“Can I come in?”

He steps aside to let him pass, closing the door immediately. His heart pulses in his throat.

Luther stands in the middle of his room awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s looking around, nervous expression shifting into something resembling a smile as his eyes land on a pair of knives embedded in the wall opposite to Diego’s bed.

He sobers up quickly though, clearing his throat.

“I, um, I lied. Earlier,” he says, “when I said you were acting weird today.”

Diego’s only response is a frown.

Luther nods to himself, seeing it as a go-ahead.

“I mean, you were acting weird. But it wasn’t just today. It was this whole week and-“

“Don’t sweat it. I’m not gonna mess up any upcoming missions because of it. And I’m fine,” he interrupts.

“-I was wondering if I did something wrong,” Luther finishes his thought anyway.

Diego’s jaw clicks shut because that’s a lot to unpack and Luther just crammed everything into that one simple sentence.

Silence fills the room for a beat before Diego finds his voice and is sure the words won’t get stuck in his throat like they used to, and still do sometimes.

“Nope. You’re, uh, you’re golden. It’s all good with…us.”

He tries for nonchalant but isn’t sure how successful he is.

Luther approaches him, reaching out to rest his hand on Diego’s forearm. He’s radiating warmth, solid and strong and, well, everything that turns Diego’s gears.

He’s screwed.

“You’re sure? Because if it’s something I’ve done, or if I’m, um, if I’m doing something you don’t like-“ he’s speaking quietly so his voice doesn’t carry through the room, so that only Diego can hear him, heads close together, breathing the same air.

Diego is contemplating kissing him just to get him off the track- and then his door flies open and he scrambles to put some distance between him and Luther.

“Hey, is Kla- oh, um. Hi.”

_Diego is going to die_.

Ben, for his credit, is trying to look unaffected, but his eyes are wide as saucers, jumping from Diego to Luther like ping-pong balls. Diego only hopes, desperately- _oh, fucking God_ \- that it’s because Luther is in his room, and that he didn’t manage to see them about to kiss.

“Hi,” he repeats,” um, I’m looking for Klaus.”

“It’s almost curfew,” Luther tells him.

Ben blinks, “Yes, you are absolutely right. I’ll go find him. And tell him that.”

Then, as an afterthought when he’s already closing the door, “You two, um, don’t kill each other?”

And then he’s gone.

Diego is trying to gauge if he’s experiencing a mild heart attack or if his heart is just beating really fast.

“That was close,” Luther says after a moment.

Diego punches him in the arm.


	4. 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is...angsty. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Diego has trouble looking Ben in the eyes after that. And he knows that one look and both Klaus and Allison would somehow know about…about- _ugh_.

So, yeah, he is avoiding his siblings as best as he can with all of them crammed in the same house. And Luther too; because if Luther is getting suspicious that something is up with him, he’s being really obvious.

He groans into his pillow and strains his ears to hear Vanya practicing her violin in her room.

She mostly keeps to herself, and Diego envies her for that. For being able to move behind dad’s back, freely and without him tracking her every movement and telling her why it’s wrong. She was close to Five, though. And he’s gone now, so Diego doesn’t think he’d actually like to be in her skin.

At least she doesn’t have the “Luther” problem, as he has labeled it. Anything else was too cheesy and “L” shaped, and that’s not something he’s ready to even acknowledge for an undetermined amount of time.

He raises his head to find a distraction for his wandering thoughts- and winces as all too familiar sound starts blaring through the mansion.

The violin cuts off with a screech, and he jumps off his bed, lunging for the closet and his mission uniform. He’s dressed and ready to go before the alarm finishes its first sequence.

Klaus stumbles into him on the stairs, boots unclasped, and they both jog downstairs, Allison and Ben on their heels. Luther is already waiting by the door, holding them open so the rest of them can slip through and pile into the van.

He can feel Ben shuddering with nerves next to him, but he’s never been happier to run into danger headfirst.

  * ●●●●



“Intel says there’s not many of them, but they’ve taken shelter in the old mining tunnel, so we’ll have to be careful,” Luther recites from the front seat.

They’re already in the outskirts of the city, and Diego keeps his eyes on the scenery flashing by, so he doesn’t fixate on the broad lines of Luther’s shoulders in his uniform. Sometimes, he thinks it would’ve been better if they kept their school uniforms.

  * ●●●●



Klaus has been getting better at hiding when he’s high, but Luther still catches him, slipping out of the van on jelly legs. Diego doesn’t stay to hear the lecture, instead trudges down the dirt path towards the mine, Ben and Allison following after him. He can hear the rise and fall of Luther’s voice- thinks back to how he sounds when he’s breathing into Diego’s ear, groaning and moaning while Diego jerks him off-, so he focuses on the sound of gravel crunching underneath his boots.

Ben eventually bypasses him, marching ahead because he wants to get this over with as soon as possible, and Diego ends up trailing behind him, drumming a knife over his knuckles.

They’re already inside the tunnel when he hears the van’s door closing.

Then, there’s a sound, like a needle pin snapping, and Ben freezes where he stands, whipping his head to look at him with wide, terrified eyes.

Diego’s heart plunges into his stomach. His face copies Ben’s expression and he turns to shout at Allison, “Allison, get out! It’s a trap!”

Then the ceiling starts collapsing, rocks cracking as thunder booms in their ears.

Allison dashes towards the exit, but Ben and Diego are too far away, they’d probably get buried as soon as the first rays of light fall on them. Instead, Diego snatches his wrist, eyes upwards, and tries to figure out how they’ll get out of this alive.

  * ●●●●



Diego listens as Ben coughs up a lungful of dust, his own lungs locked on tight. He can’t see anything, but at least he’s not hurt- save for a few scrapes and bruises.

“Diego?” Ben calls. “Diego, are you here? Can you hear me?”

He takes in a breath to respond and starts coughing as well. _Fucking mines, and dust, and explosives._

“Diego?”

He jerks when something touches his arm, starts roaming over his torso and bumping over the hilts of his knives. The hands clutch to him tighter.

“Y-yeah,” he rasps, “I’m here.”

Ben breathes out, fingers spasming around his wrist.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” Ben responds, “you?”

He shakes his head- then realizes they’re in the complete dark- and says, “No, I’m fine.”

He adds as an afterthought, “And the…?”

“Yeah, they’re- everything’s under control.”

He feels around himself and clumsily brings them both down to sit on the ground. Luther- the others will surely get to them. It’s just a question of how much of this shit they’re stuck under and how long will it take to get to them. Diego sighs. He wanted a distraction and now he stuck in a mine with nothing but his thoughts. And Ben.

He closes his eyes and leans backward until his back hits the barrier. This sucks.

His thoughts stray back to that day in his room, and he feels himself blush at the memory. Suddenly, he’s terrified. What if Ben knows? What if they didn’t step away fast enough, or far enough? What if Diego is that obvious?

What exactly did Ben see? Did he see how Diego can’t find the right footing with Luther all up in his space? Or how his eyes wander over his chest and lips because he’s too scared to look him in the eyes? Did he see Luther’s hand on his arm? Or how close they were, noses almost touching?

He swallows. Is Ben going to say anything?

“Are you okay?”

He blinks.

“What?”

“Are you okay? You haven’t even cussed out the guys responsible for this. And you seem weird,” Ben explains, hand still wrapped around Diego’s wrist. Faintly, he recalls Ben not being a big fan of the dark when they were kids.

Diego snorts as an answer. Yeah, he being weird is becoming a norm, as it seems.

He can hear Ben’s mouth snapping closed, like he was going to say something and then gave up.

They stay like that for a while, sitting in darkness and silence, until Ben startles him when he speaks up.

“Is it, um,” he starts hesitantly, “is it about Luther?”

Diego thinks he stops breathing, mind running into overdrive, too many letters, syllables, words flying around to make sense of, and he stares blankly into the darkness. _He knows_ , his brain whispers, _Ben knows_.

“Diego?” Ben whispers, nudging him lightly with his shoulder.

“It’s… it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I-if there’s anything to talk about! Not that-“

“There is,” he finds himself blurting out, and once the words are out of his mouth, he can’t stop the rest of them.

“There is, but I- I don’t know how to talk about it, or what to say, and I can’t- I can’t explain it. I just know I can’t control it, or make it go away. Or- or- or _want_ it to go away,” he thinks he can feel tears on his heated cheeks. He’s suddenly glad for the darkness because he’s not sure _he’d_ want to see his face.

He’s like a lovesick puppy, a lost cause.

“It’s okay,” Ben says.

He laughs. Ben is consoling him about his love life while they’re trapped under a pile of rocks. This is what Diego’s existence has come down to.

“At least Luther seems to feel the same way?” Ben tries again. He lets go of Diego’s hand and then Diego feels his fingers on his face. He jerks away because he doesn’t need Ben knowing he’s crying.

“I’m sure he cares,” Ben says.

And yeah, Luther cares, Diego knows that.

“He’s Luther. He cares about everything. That’s the problem,” he responds.

Ben is silent for a beat, then asks, “Why’s that?”

Because Diego doesn’t know whether Luther is doing this for himself or him. It all comes down to the same thing, no matter the angle Diego decides to look at it. He wants Luther. Luther wants him. But Luther also wants Allison.

And Allison is a logical pick here. Perfect Allison. Or Diego who is constantly the second-best, with his messy emotions and dynamite personality. He wouldn’t pick himself.

And Luther cares so damn much and probably doesn’t want to hurt him. So he lets Diego be selfish, at least for now.

He doesn’t answer Ben, but he finds his hand in the dark again.


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to come up with something to say, but nothing's coming except "Mosquitos are jerks" so. Yeah.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Diego doesn’t know how long it’s been since either of them spoke. The only things he’s aware of are Ben’s hand, clammy around his wrist, the air, dusty and damp, and the darkness encompassing them from all sides.

“How long do you think it’ll take them to get to us?” Ben asks him.

Diego doesn’t know. “Not long,” he responds.

“And do you- do you think they had to fight bad guys too?”

“I’m not sure there were any bad guys to begin with, Ben,” he admits.

“Oh.”

For all he knows, they put up the trap and took off before they even arrived. And the more cynical part of him, _the bigger part of him_ , wonders if this wasn’t just another of dad’s games. Another team practice.

He doesn’t voice his doubts, ever. He knows nobody would want to believe him. Luther least of all; and it’s Luther’s opinion that matters the most, both to him and others.

He sighs.

“Can I ask another question?” Ben wonders hesitantly.

Diego is already suspecting what it’s gonna be about, nods, remembers Ben can’t see him, and says, “Shoot.”

“So, um. When did it start?”

Diego frowns into the dark because, “I- I can’t tell, actually.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I-“

“No, I mean, I don’t know. It’s not like I just woke up one morning and thought, “ _Oh! I’m gonna fa- I want to kiss Luther!_ ” It just. It was there for a while.”

Diego became aware of the feeling only to realize he doesn’t know for how long he’s been feeling it. It was so subtle at first that he’s halfway convinced it was there since he was born. Not that he can say that out loud.

“I think I understand,” Ben tells him, “I- hm,” he makes a dismissive noise and cuts off whatever he was trying to say.

“What?”

“Nothing. I, um, I was going to give a comparison, but I realized it’s a sucky comparison.”

Diego nudges him with his shoulder because he wants a distraction, “Tell me.”

Ben breathes out, “Okay, um. I kinda always knew there was…something in me. And then the Horror came out and I wasn’t really surprised. It’s a terrible comparison, I know!”

“It’s actually not,” Diego says.

It does feel- sometimes- like Diego’s feelings are a monster he can’t control, clawing at his chest.

  * ●●●●



“Honestly, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this. While I’m not actually surprised at the same time.”

Diego snorts. He knows that feeling.

He’s trying to find something to say. Something to share while he has a chance because he doesn’t know if this is a one-time thing, while they’re literally isolated from everyone else. Away from prying ears and eyes.

He chuckles.

“This is more privacy than I ever had with Luther.”

“Ew, I didn’t need to know that,” Ben whines jokingly, lightening the mood.

“Wait until I tell you about all the juicy stuff,” Diego retorts, a grin playing on his lips. He thinks how Ben and he don't joke- or talk- much.

“Please don’t. Honestly.”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry, there’s not much to tell anyway,” he admits.

“Huh,” Ben says.

Diego imagines him squinting like he does when trying to figure out something.

“Like, what do you two do? I don’t need the details! Just- I don’t know. I don’t believe you survive only by holding hands, no offense.”

Diego frowns because, “Where the fuck would we hold hands?”

He feels Ben shrug. “I don’t know. While you kiss? When we gotta go on a mission and you sneak in a quick squeeze while no one’s looking?”

Now, Diego makes the effort of trying to aim his disbelieving look at Ben’s face.

“How many romance novels have you read lately?”

“Fuck off.”

They’re quiet for a beat, then Ben adds, “You know others wouldn’t care, right?”

Diego takes one of his knives in hand and starts tapping it rhythmically against his thigh. His knives always soothe him, ground him to reality. Knives in his dreams are never sharp- these ones are.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Why are you keeping it secret, then?”

_Because I don’t know if it’s real._

  * ●●●●



It’s so quiet at first that Diego almost doesn’t notice it. The quiet clinking of smaller rocks, the scuffle of feet on unsteady ground. The shouting.

He shoots up to his feet, dragging Ben with him.

“We’re here!” He yells, turning on his heels, “We’re here!”

Ben catches up quickly, joins in, “We’re here! Help!”

“Luther!” Diego shouts.

He can hear it more clearly now, can just imagine Luther grabbing the huge chunks of rock in his hands and tossing them aside. He swallows.

“Guys! We’re here!” Ben yells, clutching at his wrist almost painfully.

“ _Ben! Diego!_ ” It’s Allison, sounding like she’s been shouting their names for some time now.

“Diego!” It’s Luther now, “Ben!”

He sounds really close.

Diego pulls Ben backward, away from the wall of the rocks in front of them. It would suck if Luther managed to get to them only to move a wrong rock and accidentally kill them.

“We’re here! I think you-“ he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, interrupted by the rock barricade ahead crumbling and revealing their siblings’ dark silhouettes surrounded by light from outside.

“Are you two okay?!” Allison is the first to speak, rushing to their side and shining a beam of light over their forms, checking for injuries.

“Just a bit banged up,” Ben tells her.

“We’re fine,” Diego agrees, eyes on Luther.

He jerks into motion, stepping over rocks clumsily- Diego worries for a moment he’ll sprain his ankle, even though he knows Luther’s is much more durable than that- on his way towards Diego.

His eyes scan over him, hands hovering above his shoulders like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. In the end, he says to hell with it and runs them down Diego’s arms, gentle touch a pretense of checking for broken bones.

Diego blushes in half-darkness, responding to warm touch.

“You’re not hurt?” Luther asks him.

“No,” he shakes his head, regretting it a little when that takes away their excuse for touching.

Luther lets his hands fall away and turns to ask Ben, awkwardly, “And you?”

“I’m good,” Ben says with a shrug, “but I’d like to get out of here sometime today if you guys don’t mind.”

“Right,” Luther says, “let’s go.”

When Allison starts walking ahead with Ben, Luther lets his hand rest between Diego’s shoulder blades, fingers reaching up to brush over the short hairs on the back of his head. It’s not hand-holding, and it’s a little backward, but Diego figures it counts for something.

  * ●●●●



“Oh my! Look at you, children!” Mom exclaims when they get back home, rushing to them just as Luther is closing the back door.

“We’re okay, Mom. Maybe you can just check over Diego and Ben?” Allison speaks up, nudging the two of them at her.

Mom coos at them and leads them towards the infirmary, while Allison goes to change out of her uniform, and Luther goes to inform dad about what a mess the mission has been.

Diego is waiting for his turn when, surprisingly, Luther appears, wearing sweatpants and a simple shirt.

“Mom, I’ll get Diego,” he says as a way of greeting, scooping supplies he’d need and going straight towards Diego.

Diego catches Ben throwing him a smug look over Mom’s shoulder and scowls before bowing his head to blush at his lap.

“Um, do you want to get out of the uniform?” Luther asks him as soon as he takes a set on the gurney next to Diego.

“Uh,” Diego starts, unbuttons the cuffs and the collar of his uniform, then says, “this is fine. I’m not even hurt.”

Luther nods and takes a wet cloth in his hand, other one holding Diego’s wrist so he can scrub the grime off his skin.

Rationally, Diego knows he could do it on his own without a problem, but he lets Luther do it, enjoying the close proximity that they don’t need to hide.

Once he’s satisfied with his work, Luther takes some antiseptic cream and starts applying it over tiny cuts.

“I was, um, I was worried,” he whispers while tending to a cut on Diego’s cheek.

Diego swallows and barely meets his eyes.

“Yeah, well, we’re okay. So no need to worry anymore,” he says lightly.

Luther nods but his lips are pursed like he’s not completely satisfied with Diego’s answer. He tips his head to the side with a hand holding Diego’s chin gently, smears more cream on the curve of his jaw.

Diego wants to lean in to kiss him, but he doesn’t. Not here.


	6. 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 0% plot and 100% smut with a bit of angst (and a smidge of come marking kink if you squint).
> 
> Enjoy! :)

* * *

Later, much later, Diego hears a knock on his bedroom door- and this time isn’t nearly as surprised to find Luther standing on the doorway.

He doesn’t so much let him pass as Luther pushes his way in, slamming into him with controlled force. He closes the door and pulls Diego in, tugging closer until there’s barely any air between them, kisses him without a word.

Diego goes with it, let’s Luther lick into his mouth with enough strength to push his head back with each movement. It’s not how things work. This is rules free, and Diego is frankly feeling lost. He loops his arms around Luther’s neck, hugs his own elbows just so his hands are not awkwardly hanging there.

Luther’s hands run down his sides, fingers bumping over ridges of his ribs and then digging into the flesh of his thighs. Before he knows it, Luther hoists him up and swallows down any noise of surprise Diego might have made.

He flushes hot all over, wrapping his legs around Luther’s waist even though they both know Luther could hold him on his own like that for God knows how long without a problem. One of Luther’s hands stays as a support underneath his ass and the other comes up to curl around his middle, pulling him yet closer.

They’re more breathing in each other’s mouth by this point, and it’s too confusing to think about, so Diego kisses him again, opening up to him easily.

“I- Diego, I-“ Luther whispers, breathy and barely audible.

Diego pecks him, making a questioning noise.

His arm sneaks up Diego’s spine, palm splaying open between his shoulder blades.

“Can we- the bed? Can we get on the bed?” Luther stammers out, dragging his mouth over Diego’s cheek.

He swallows, thinking about things they could get up to in a bed, not sure if he’s scared or excited. Both, probably.

Luther catches on his train of thought, shakes his head, “Not like- not like that.” He licks his lips and adds, “At least not all the way. Not this time.”

Oh.

“Okay, yeah,” Diego agrees. He ignores the assumption there will be other time, cuts off his thoughts about what the other time might lead to, and feels himself getting hard anyway- harder than he was until now, that is.

“Okay,” Luther repeats, “let me just-“

He starts lowering Diego to the floor, but then changes his mind and carries him to the bed. He goes to the door again and moves Diego’s closet in front of it. There are no locks on the doors, so this is the next best thing.

Diego trails his eyes over him, how flushed he is, following the line of his shoulders, muscles in his arms shifting beneath his shirt. The tented front of his pajama pants.

Luther is doing the same with him, and Diego feels the heat rise up to his face. It makes it difficult to keep eye contact, but he can’t look away when Luther’s looking at him like that.

He thinks- no, he knows he wanted more than a quick jerk-off session in the storage room for a while now. But words were never Diego’s thing, and he didn’t know how to ask without spilling everything else too.

He scoots away from the edge of the bed, shifts so he’s not lying on it sideways anymore. He ponders over it for a bit, then spreads his legs in a shameless invitation for Luther to get between them. He thinks he’s allowed, considering they already got this far.

And Luther does, climbing on the bed on his knees to kneel between Diego’s thighs, his eyes roaming hotly over Diego’s body. If Diego wanted to torture himself, he’d start comparing the looks he gives Diego with the ones he gives Allison. How he looks at Allison like she’s the Sun itself, life and warmth, while Diego is the darkness, something to get lost in from time to time.

He places his hands on Diego’s knees, says, “Um, you should take off your pants.”

Diego nods, swallowing, and lifts his hips so that Luther can pull off his boxers and pajama pants. It dawns on him, faintly, that despite having hands down each other’s pants, they haven’t seen each other naked before. He wants to keep his shirt on, however ridiculous that may be, just for the sake of not feeling completely exposed. It’s like, if Luther sees him, whole, it’s all going to be his, and Diego figures if he already has whatever it is that makes a person, he can at least keep a part of his body- however small- for himself.

Thankfully, Luther doesn’t make a move for his shirt, instead just leans in to resume kissing him. It’s not as feverish as before, but Luther makes up for it by being determined to take Diego’s breath away. An unpredictable careful kiss here, a nip of teeth over bottom lip there, fingers raking over flushed skin. They’ve never been this close, and Diego doesn’t know what changed, can’t tell what’s the endgame here. Because this isn’t a quick jerk-off session in the storage room, this is not the familiar dance or the familiar tune. Luther always kisses like he means it, but this time Diego is almost inclined to believe him.

He’s practically draped over Diego, pushing him into the mattress, rolling his hips against him in a slow rhythm while Diego clings to his shoulders. It occurs to Diego that they’re not on a time limit. It’s the middle of the night practically, and while Diego doesn’t doubt that others aren’t asleep yet, he knows they won’t venture out to look for either of them.

He lets Luther take control, lets him slip a hand between them, shove down his own pants and underwear.

Diego thinks it’s hysterical how this is the first time he’s seen Luther’s dick. He knows how it feels in his hand, but he didn’t know how it looks like until now. He would’ve laughed at how ridiculous that is if Luther hasn’t taken both of their dicks in hand and started jerking them off.

As it is, he stifles a moan, and jerks his hips up, meeting Luther’s thrusts and hand movements until they’ve created a good rhythm together.

He’s lost in it, Luther panting in his mouth, pressing down on him, steadily working them both towards the edge. This is familiar, and Diego wonders how fucked up it is that he’s comparing it to a mission; the two of them fighting, knowing each other’s moves even though they’ve never been in the exact situation before.

He feels heat coiling in his belly, arches up to chase the rush as Luther slants his mouth over his own. He kisses him firmly and then rasps, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

There are definitely far sexier things to say at this moment, but the unexpected tenderness slams into Diego with violent ferocity. He lurches up to kiss Luther in favor of shouting as he spills, Luther’s hand coaxing the last of his orgasm out of him until he melts into the mattress.

He’s still coming down from the high when Luther leans back, back to simply kneeling between his legs, and it’s always something else to see him like this, dad’s Number One letting loose like he’s never felt better. _With Diego_.

He comes with a bitten-off curse, splashing come over Diego’s thigh. Diego imagines him dragging his fingers through it, rubbing it in his skin- then flushes and decides that’s another thing he’s not thinking about, shifting on the bed because it still twists his stomach into knots.

It causes Luther to lose his balance and bump into him sideways, grabbing his leg to keep himself from toppling over. It shatters whatever atmosphere there was and Diego snorts at startled expression on his face as he blushes, chuckling awkwardly.

“Um,” Luther starts, looking at him sheepishly. It doesn’t look like he knows what to say, and Diego tosses a box of tissues at him to save him the misery.

He catches it against his chest, raising his eyebrows at Diego.

“What? You made a mess, you’re gonna clean it,” he tells him cheekily.

“Pretty sure it’s not just _my_ mess,” Luther murmurs in response but he’s already plucking a handful of tissues from the box.

“But I’m injured.”

“I thought you said you’re fine.”

“Physically, yes. It’s called emotional trauma, Luther. I have been traumatized.”

Luther’s mouth twitches with amusement, hand sweeping over Diego’s belly and thigh gently. It feels strangely intimate, and Diego halfway regrets not doing it himself because he’s getting addicted to the soft, non-sexual touch.

He forgets all about it though, when Luther says, “You sounded scarily like Klaus right now.”

Diego gasps, faux offended, “Take that back.”

Luther tosses the tissues in the bin by his desk, says, “Sorry, no take-backs.”

Diego supposes, watching him grin and pull up his pants, he won’t take back these feelings he gave him either.


	7. 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben is getting a front-row seat in this show and you can bet he's getting invested. Diego is still oblivious.

So.

Diego is still avoiding his siblings. Most of them, that is.

“I have to take back my previous announcement. About how I don’t have much to talk about,” he says awkwardly diplomatic, closing the door to Ben’s room.

Ben peers at him over the cover of his book, sitting cross-legged at the head of his bed. He looks like he was expecting him and Diego doesn’t know whether to be offended or impressed.

“And you want to talk about it with me?”

Diego stops because, “Yeah?”

“Even though you could talk to anyone else?”

“Yeah?”

“Out of everyone, you picked me?”

“Yeah?” He’s starting to feel a bit stupid for just repeating that, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Did Ben think it was just a one-time thing? Did he talk to Diego because they were both stuck?

Ben sets his book down. “Okay,” he says, “but why not, like, Klaus?”

“Klaus thinks I’m too vanilla,” he responds, copying Ben’s position at the foot of the bed.

Ben looks like he just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

“You? Vanilla? No offense, but, um, _what?_ ”

Diego shrugs, picking at the seams of his sweatpants. Truth be told, he never really thought anything about himself, so he can’t disprove whatever anyone else says, even if it wasn’t true. He acts how he acts because it feels safe, because it makes others think he’s standing on solid ground and not slipping down a fucking landslide since he found out that normal kids aren’t named by numbers.

“Anyway. Um, Luther came to my room last night,” he says, stating the reason why he’s here in the first place.

“Oh. And?” Ben asks, visibly confused.

“We don’t do that,” Diego tells him.

“You don’t do what?”

“Come in each other’s rooms.”

Ben opens his mouth to speak but then clamps them shut with a click, seemingly lost for words.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, “I’m really confused. If you don’t go to each other’s rooms- and you’re definitely not hanging around the house either- when the hell are you together then?”

Diego squirms, not completely comfortable with disclosing that information. But this is Ben, and if he can’t get it all off his chest now, when the fuck will he?

“After joined training sessions. When we agree,” he says.

Ben hums.

“In the, uh,” he looks up at the ceiling, “in the storage room by the stairwell.”

“Oh,” Ben says, “okay. That is actually smart, nobody goes there.”

“I know, that’s why I picked it,” Diego agrees.

Ben shuffles into a more comfortable position, the one that says ‘I’m going to listen to everything you say’ and Diego- Diego doesn’t know what he feels. He thinks he could cry? _Yeah, definitely_. Because bless Ben and his tendency to not make a fuss of anything.

“So, um, can I ask- can I ask when did it start?” He asks but then frowns, shaking his head when he remembers he already asked that.

“Or, I guess, more importantly, how did it start?”

Diego swallows, wondering how to explain this. It feels like there are ants crawling over his skin, the same as always when he thinks about things a bit too close to his heart. Actions he can do. Words are tricky and most definitely not one of his strongest suits.

“Um, I- It was, like, 6 months back?” Ben’s eyes bug out but he doesn’t say anything. “And- you know- the- hm, _shit_. We were in the lobby, we came in after a mission, okay? And the rest of you already went to your rooms.”

He’s just grateful the words are leaving his mouth as he wants them- or at least close enough- because he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks and his fingers twitching.

“And we were bickering about something stupid, I don’t even know what and I thought- um, I thought,” he breaks off to chuckle, “ _what a prick_. And then I kissed him.”

He shrugs, trying to ease the tension between his shoulders, “And he kissed me back.”

“Oh,” Ben says, blinking curiously, “what then?”

“Hmm. I- _hmm_. Wh-We panicked. And I told him to meet me in the storage room.”

“Did you talk then?”

Diego hums a negative. They didn’t talk because Diego didn’t know what to say and occupied their mouths by kissing Luther until his jaw hurt.

“Why not?” Ben prompts.

Diego looks at him like it’s obvious.

“I didn’t know what to say. Or- I don’t know. I- I didn’t even know what I felt.”

“And now you do-“ Ben asks and Diego cuts him off with a decisive shake of his head.

“No, nuh-uh. _Nope_. I’m not talking about that.”

Ben looks at him as if Diego just said the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard.

“Because…?”

Diego feels his chest getting heavy with by now familiar weight and says, “I just don’t.”

  * ●●●●



He’s getting out of Ben’s room at the same time as Luther is closing the door to Allison’s. They stand in the hallway for a moment, looking at each other and Diego knows he’s good at masking his feelings, knows he successfully hides the pang of hurt mixed with jealousy mixed with resignation from showing on his face. Luther, on the other hand, is not so good at hiding surprise from showing on his.

Diego should probably be offended by just how surprised he looks, but the only thing he can think about is how Luther- in some insane, improbable way- knows exactly what he just talked about with Ben.

He half expects Luther to come to his room again, ask about it, but he doesn’t.

Diego doesn’t know what it means that he wanted him to.

  * ●●●●



Luther is frowning. Which is, yeah, not an exactly unusual expression for him, but Diego doesn’t get what he’s frowning over during dinner.

Klaus is in his room because he’s sick- presumably- so Diego can’t hide behind him to carve out patterns on his chair. And he’s bored as hell, his half-empty plate sitting in front of him.

Mom swoops in from behind him and takes it, carrying it off to the kitchen. Diego wonders what are the chances that she’ll wash the dishes later, instead of as soon as she brings them in, and let him help her.

Ben is picking at his food, his glass of apple juice untouched. Diego doesn’t know if he doesn’t like apple juice or if he’s just keeping it for last- he never paid Ben much attention. In fact, none of them pays much attention to the others as well. The realization makes him feel uncomfortable, and he’s suddenly sad.

A fork scrapes over a plate and Diego looks over at Luther. His eyes flicker up and to the side- towards the stairwell- and then he goes back to frowning at his dinner.

  * ●●●●



Diego has just closed the door to his room when he sensed someone walking up behind him. A hand closes around his elbow lightly and he turns to shoot Luther a confused look.

“I, um, want to talk to you,” Luther says, tugging him towards his room.

Diego falters because… _what_.

“I- what?”

“C’mon,” Luther says.

Diego squishes the uneasy panic in his chest, tells his paranoid brain to shut up, and follows after Luther. He doesn’t remember the last time he went to Luther’s room, and somehow, everything is familiar and completely foreign to him at the same time.

He sits numbly at the edge of his bed, watches as Luther gingerly takes a seat at his desk, turning the chair to face him.

Luther opens his mouth to speak, closes them with a click, and frowns at his hands. Diego sits, unmoving and silent.

“Uh, so, you and Ben,” Luther finally says, with more than a touch of awkwardness.

Diego blinks, nodding, “Yeah? We were hanging out.”

Faintly, he wonders what he’ll say if Luther asks him what they were talking about. Faintly, only because he can barely think over drumming in his ears.

“Oh, yeah, that’s, uh, um- nice,” Luther responds, nodding. “Maybe we could hang out too?”

“Like just hanging out?”

Luther nods again. Diego is curious if he’s getting dizzy.

“Ye-yeah.”

He finds himself nodding back, hands itching for a knife, or anything, really, that he can fiddle with.

“Okay. Yeah, we could do that,” he agrees- and then wonders what the hell did he just get himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do they both look at each other when someone scrapes their cutlery over a plate? Yes, yes, they do.


End file.
